


To Be Better Tomorrow Than you Were Yesterday

by GinnyRose



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alastair Carstairs Deserves the World, Alastair is a smol angry bean, Alastair is hurting, Canon Compliant, Charles Fairchild (mentioned), Confrontations, Cordelia is Angry Because she Cares, Cordelia is the Best Sister, Elias Carstairs (mentioned), Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Improper Weapon Handling, M/M, Matthew Fairchild (mentioned), Mild Fluff, Mild Innuendo, One-Shot, Overprotective Siblings, Post-Canon, Pre-Lightstairs, Pre-Slash, Sibling Bonding, Some Humor, Spears, Spoilers, Sweet Because Cassie Loves to Hurt Us, Thomas is Angry and it's justified, Thomas is a gentle giant, communication is key, lightstairs - Freeform, sibling dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinnyRose/pseuds/GinnyRose
Summary: Cordelia did not suffer through her brother's confrontation with Charles Fairchild just to end up on the wrong side of his locked bedroom door again. She did not know what caused it, but she knew it had something to do with the over-sized Lightwood and she would be damned if he got away with it. Thomas Lightwood was going to put her brother back together again or die trying.Thomas just wanted to be angry in peace, but when one Carstairs comes storming into his favorite hideout with a rather sharp sword and even sharper words, it proves to be incredibly hard to stay angry at the other. Especially when some very conflicting, very confusing emotions are at play.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Cordelia Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 16
Kudos: 373





	To Be Better Tomorrow Than you Were Yesterday

Cordelia was on the warpath as she stalked down the street towards the Devil’s Tavern. It was rather improper looking, entering a tavern as an unaccompanied, not-yet-married girl, but Cordelia didn’t care one bit about the occasional odd look she got from mundanes passing by. She had more important things occupying her mind – specifically the best ways to murder a giant.

For that was what she was planning – the untimely, gruesome death of one Thomas Lightwood. She had already crafted the condolences letter she’d be sending to his parents in her mind and had her alibi set in the form of her soon-to-be parabatai Lucie waiting patiently for her back in the carriage they’d commandeered for this excursion. She’d even worn a dress of russet gold, which would hide the dark stains better than any of her other gowns until she was able to return back to her home and change. And she’d, of course, brought Cortana, cleverly hidden behind her back.

With the cool sheath of her blade a reassuring weight between her shoulder blades, Cordelia stormed into the Devil’s Tavern, ignored the startled looks of the patrons spread about the lower floor, and marched her way up to the Merry Thieves’ private room. Christopher and Thomas, as she had expected – Lucie had informed her that her father had gone off with James and Matthew for some “wedding preparations” which both girls had assumed was just an excuse for them to do male things together - were the only two occupants in the room and both looked up with some alarm as she slammed the door open.

“Christopher, I need to speak with Thomas. Please give us the room,” she spoke the words rather calmly despite the fiery anger coursing through her veins. Christopher, evidently sensing her wrath in a way that he could never sense any other subtle social cues, jumped up in a flurry of books and loose papers, nearly upsetting a bottle of black ink over the whole mess. Cordelia waited in silence as he piled everything up into his arms. “Lucie is in a carriage, two streets down, if you would like to keep her company,” she told him as he finally stood back up. Christopher nodded once, jerkily, and shot one worried look at his cousin before disappearing out of the door.

Cordelia turned her attention to Thomas as the door closed. He must have had some inkling as to why she was there because he was sitting up straight and looking at her with a wary expression. “My brother,” she began, forcing her voice to remain steady by sheer will as she strode over towards the seated man, “has not left his room since my and James’s engagement celebration.” She brought herself to full height as she stopped just short of looming over Thomas but even seated, he didn’t have to look up far to meet her eyes. “That was a week ago, in case you’ve forgotten how to track time the way you seem to have forgotten your friendship with my brother.”

There was a subtle flinch at her words there. Good. “The last time he was like this, it was after coming home from a miserable stay at the academy. And at least _then_ he came out for meals. I had thought that his melancholy was due to a –“ she paused for a moment, carefully considering her words. She had her suspicions about Thomas’s significance to Alastair but she wouldn’t make assumptions and betray her brother’s secrets, “separate personal matter. But, when I finally managed to wear him down enough to at least speak with me through the door, it was _your_ name he mentioned.”

“Corde-“ Thomas began, shifting his weight to lean forwards towards her. Cordelia raised a single hand in warning.

“I have not finished speaking yet.” She told him and Thomas fell silent once more. “Alastair would not give me any details of what transpired, but he seems to be suffering under the assumption that you told him in no uncertain terms that you never want to speak or see him ever again and has therefore decided to bar himself in his room until such a time that he can leave London and never return. Because of our friendship, I have decided to give you a moment to explain yourself before I take out Cortana.” Cordelia finished speaking and began staring expectantly at Thomas. Despite interrupting her just a few moments before, he seemed to struggle to come up with words. Finally, after a long pause, he shifted his weight again, further back into the chair and adopted an expression rather similar to that of a puppy left out in the rain.

“You don’t know what he’s done. He’s said unforgiveable things.” He said finally, an uncharacteristically dark look in his usually gentle eyes. Cordelia thought for a moment – Alastair could be quite cruel when he wanted and doubly so when hurting himself. But, in her admittedly limited glimpses into Thomas and Alastair’s odd sort-of friendship, she had not thought there was anything between them that would have resulted in Alastair turning nasty.

“Recently?” She asked. Thomas shook his head.

“No, while we were at the Academy.” He admitted. Ah. Well, Alastair had admitted that he’d done some awful things to preserve his own self at the school. Cordelia knew that was why James and Matthew hated her brother so much, although she’d had the distinct impression that Christopher was indifferent to him and Thomas had seemed nearly fond. It made no sense to start being upset about it _now_.

“That was a long time ago.” She told him curtly. Thomas looked up at her suddenly, nearly pleadingly. As though he wanted desperately for her to understand his sudden coldness to her brother. As though he wanted her to sanctify it when it was obviously making her brother miserable.

“I found out about them recently. Look, I am sorry that Alastair is upset –“ Thomas did look nearly pained at the idea, although his anger seemed to be soundly trouncing any of the kind feelings he had for Alastair. “- but the things he said, they were awful. Truly awful and not just against me. He spread rumors that hurt my entire family and Matthew’s too. It’s not something that is easily forgivable. My own mother _cried_ because of it. I –“ Cordelia, despite her frequent traveling, had heard of the awful rumors that had gone around about Charlotte Branwell and Gideon Lightwood just a few years before. Her mother had rejected them soundly and ordered Cordelia to never breath a word of such awfulness to anyone. Cordelia never had and the idea that her brother had any part in those murmurings was like a slap of icy air and she felt a great deal of her anger dissipate. Still, she alone knew how Alastair had felt after coming home from the Academy, she alone knew why Alastair had done the things he had done. She would not allow the unwelcome realization to change her mind about helping her brother.

“Did you know our father is a verifiable drunk?” Cordelia interrupted; her voice was nearly casual although her words stopped Thomas right in his tracks. She didn’t know what had possessed her to reveal this to Thomas but whatever it was, forced her to continue. “He is. Drinks to the point that he can’t remember things. It’s his “sickness” that forced us to move around so much. Alastair hid this from me of course, for many years. I did not find out until coming to London, in fact. I used to find brandy bottles tucked away into odd places and Alastair would laugh them off. He wanted me to have the childhood he never did, you see. Wanted me to believe that our father was good and kind and that only some undefinable sickness stopped him from being as amazing as he could be instead of the drunken wastrel that he is.”

“I-I’m very sorry Cordelia,” Thomas said, his face looking downright horrified at the information he’d been given. Cordelia wasn’t surprised – her father’s affliction would undoubtedly be considered a shameful one by any who learned of it and could very well cost him his freedom if it got back to the rest of the Clave. Cordelia still wasn’t sure he didn’t deserve such a fate, even though the date of their reunion was looming ever nearer. Still, Thomas was not one to go about spreading rumors about someone’s family, even if those rumors happened to be true and Cordelia had no doubt that her admission would stay well within the other Shadowhunter’s confidence.

“I do not want your condolences, Thomas, just your understanding.” She told him, voice brusque. “Alastair was dreadful at the Academy, he told me so himself. And if his words about your family are what I think they were –“ she paused here, for a moment, contemplating the awful truth of that, “- then I understand your anger and I will not ask for your forgiveness on his behalf either. I simply wish for you to understand that when Alastair entered the Academy, he did so with the truth of what our father was and a determination to keep people away from that truth. When others began to needle him about it, began to accuse our family of keeping some dreadful secret hidden away in our frequent moves, he lashed out. He regrets it, deeply, and he has tried to change.” She hoped Alastair would forgive her for this breach of confidence – it was for the better, of course, but it still went against her brother’s wishes.

“I am not asking you to forgive him – forgiveness is something he must earn from you and only if you are willing to give it, and I quite understand why you would not be– nor am I asking you to befriend him again. But I must insist you at least speak to him. At least give him the chance to apologize in full for I believe that would do you both a fair deal of good.” Even if they didn’t make up, at least Alastair would have the weight of his guilt somewhat assuaged, and perhaps make appearances out of his room to call on some other friends in the city.

“I – I can give him that. But I make no promises beyond that.” Thomas said, an expression that was somehow both earnest and considering on his face, and it was like a weight had been lifted off Cordelia. He was willing and she needed nothing more than that.

“Wonderful. I will give you a moment to collect your things and then we shall be off.” Cordelia replied easily, finally allowing herself to take a step back from Thomas and adopt a far more friendly air. Which was rather fortunate as, at her words, Thomas startled, his long limbs flailing out involuntarily at the surprise.

“Now? But I’m not ready!” He seemed to flail again, his large hands pointing at himself as though he was somehow indecent.

“Of course now. The carriage is already waiting and I promised Lucie this wouldn’t take long. What preparations do you have to make? It is just a conversation.” Thomas suddenly looked vaguely ill and Cordelia wondered if perhaps she should give him some time. But then she remembered the look her mother wore after breakfast, as though getting ready to call the Silent Brothers in to examine Alastair after one more plate of picked over food and steeled her resolve. She would be returning with Thomas, whether or not the man in question was ready.

Thomas, perhaps sensing that Cordelia was not to be swayed that he would indeed be having his promised conversation with her brother very shortly, seemed to tense up. “Very well.” He muttered before quickly standing up, nearly knocking into Cordelia who was apparently still standing too close. “I’m sorry!” he told her as she took a hasty step back from his large frame.

“I’m fine!” She reassured him, sending up her hands in an attempt to reassure him. “Collect your things so we can go.” She added. Thomas looked around himself. He had been reading, undoubtedly something that would help stave off disaster during Christopher’s next flurry of inventive experimentation, and he had sent a book flying when he had stood up so quickly. With awkward, nervous movements, Thomas picked up the book and, seemingly unsure where to put it, tucked it safely under his arm.

“Let’s go, then.” He looked rather like he’d rather do just about anything else, but he nevertheless followed Cordelia as she turned, her skirt flaring slightly at her ankles with the motion. Cordelia opened the door and was surprised to see Christopher tucked onto the top stair, a remarkable number of his books opened around him in the tight space.

“I did not eavesdrop.” He immediately said, looking up at the creak of the door. “But I was halfway down the stairs to go keep company with Lucie before I realized that if it was clear I’d left you two alone –“ He trailed off delicately and Cordelia felt her cheeks flush. In her anger, she hadn’t thought how the tavern might talk, if an engaged woman was seeking the company of an unrelated man in an upstairs room. She did not think the owner of the tavern would say much or encourage any rumors, fond as she was of the Merry Thieves, but there was no guarantee what the other patrons would say.

“Thank you, Christopher,” She told him as Thomas let out an embarrassed sort of cough behind her. “I have an errand to run now and Thomas has graciously agreed to help so we shall be off.” She waited just long enough for Christopher to scramble up with several of his books precariously in his hands before she made her way past him and down the steps once more, Thomas trailing behind her. It doesn’t take long to make their way out of the tavern and down the two streets to where the carriage waited for them. The driver, one of the servants the Lightwoods had graciously sent to Cordelia’s family, offered them a brief smile as Cordelia opened the carriage door much more gently than she had done earlier.

Lucie was, rather predictably, in the same spot that Cordelia had left her in, reading from the leather-bound journal she had brought with her. She looked up as Cordelia slipped in beside her, Thomas close behind.

“I have nearly finished the story, Daisy.” She told her happily, shutting the journal and neatly folding her hands over it. This section is ready for the typewriter and then I will read it to you. You’ll love it. Hello, Thomas. I see Daisy’s convinced you to accompany us, then?” She smiled at him, evidently unconcerned at his apprehensive expression.

“Yes,” he seemed unsure and Cordelia realized that she had not told him exactly what Lucie was doing with them. He had no idea of knowing how much she knew. Being her future parabatai, Cordelia had told her nearly everything – leaving out only the most private parts of it – but there was no way for Thomas to have known that.

“Lucie has kindly agreed to help me and my mother prepare the house for my father’s arrival home. My mother will run herself ragged if she doesn’t have someone to help and her present condition that would be most unwise.” Cordelia told him smoothly. She felt a little guilty not telling him outright what Lucie knew, but she did not think Alastair would appreciate if she told Thomas Lucie had admitted she had tried to stop him running off from the engagement party when Cordelia had first brought her concerns to her friend and she had already done quite a bit of revealing personal information.

“Is she unwell?” Thomas asked, and there was real concern in his voice. Cordelia blinked in surprise for a moment, before she realized that, with Thomas not speaking with Alastair there was no way that he would have heard the news.

“She is expecting,” Cordelia told him, feeling a faint flush return to her cheeks. It was strange to tell someone that, let alone a man, but better than allowing Thomas to assume her mother was sick or dying.

“Oh!” Thomas seemed briefly unsure what to say. A pregnancy at her mother’s age was not without quite a few risks, even for Shadowhunter women, and Thomas was not exactly close to the family. Had Cordelia not been so demanding for Thomas to have a conversation with Alastair, he most likely would have not found out until her mother began showing.

The rest of the carriage ride passed in silence. Lucie, usually a chatterer by nature, seemed content to watch out the small window of the carriage, pulling the curtain back with a delicate hand, and Thomas seemed to be in too much of a nervous state to engage in any conversation, although whether that was because of Alastair or because of the news of Cordelia’s mother, she didn’t know. Cordelia herself felt like she had already said enough to last a lifetime and now that she had Thomas in the carriage, her mind was turning down some rather unpleasant paths. Alastair was going to be most upset that she had meddled. He could very easily refuse to see Thomas, which would make Cordelia a meddler and a failure in one. She and Alastair had made good strides in their relationship since her eavesdropping and she was very aware that she was risking their relationship all over again.

She could only hope that he would not refuse the other man.

It did not take nearly long enough for the carriage to come to a stop before the house and it was to a nervous kind of silence that Thomas jumped out of the carriage and turned to help Cordelia and Lucie down. Cordelia had hopes that she could get Thomas up to Alastair’s rooms before her mother found them but they were quickly dashed at the appearance of the woman in question at the front door.

“Hello Thomas,” she said, her face quickly going from surprise to a light smile. “Did you offer to escort the girls, how very kind!” She was pressing a light hand to her stomach absently and Cordelia wondered with a slight stab of fear whether or not she was having troubles again. She had suffered a rather ferocious bout of sickness just the other morning and although she had waved it off with an unconcerned hand, Cordelia still worried.

“Hello Mrs. Carstairs,” Thomas responded dutifully. “I was paying a visit to the Institute when Cordelia and Lucie told me their intentions. I was hoping to have a word with Alastair while here,” it was rather amazing, that someone could seem so honest while lying through their teeth. Cordelia would have never expected Thomas to be such a dept liar, but everyone had their hidden talents.

“It really is so kind of you, but I’m afraid Alastair hasn’t been too well. I’m not sure he’s up for visitors.” Here her mother shot a look at Cordelia, as though silently telling her off for bringing Thomas to the house while Alastair was in a mood. She was not about to allow her hard work go so quickly though, and quickly jumped into action.

“Oh, Thomas insisted! He’s quite good friends with Alastair, after all, and he did come all this way with us.” Perhaps she was laying it on a little thick – it wouldn’t take too much for her mother to catch on – but her mother was well-versed in all the makings of a good hostess and she was rather loathe to turn aside a young man of Thomas’s prominence, even if Cordelia already had an intended. It wouldn’t hurt the family cause, after all, to have friends in the Lightwood family.

Briefly, and not for the first time, Cordelia wondered how much her mother knew about Alastair’s love interests as her mother smiled, perhaps a tad too knowingly, and beckoned for them to come in. “I’ll escort Thomas up, Mâmân,” Cordelia told her mother quickly as they stepped inside. Her mother raised an eyebrow immediately, undoubtedly thinking of all the different ways such an act could be interpreted wrongly, but Lucie was quick to come to her aid.

“Mrs. Carstairs, I’m so happy to be able to help you get the house ready for your husband! It has been such a long time since I have seen him, and it is quite different now that me and Daisy are to be sisters as well as parabatai!” Lucie’s voice was full of innocent excitement and Cordelia’s mother was distracted enough by it that Cordelia and Thomas were allowed to make their escape up to the upper floor.

Alastair’s room was the first bedroom occupied in the hall and Cordelia knocked on it quickly, her gaze darting briefly down the stairs where she could just make out her mother and Lucie’s skirts disappearing in the direction of the parlor. Hopefully she would be back down before this whole thing became suspicious.

“Go away, Cordelia!” Alastair’s voice, gruff from disuse – he probably had spoken to no one since Cordelia had taken off to fetch Lucie that morning – came out muffled through the door.

“Please open the door, Alastair!” She called back. There was a pause in which Cordelia hoped she would hear the scuffle of her brother’s feet on the floor but only silence came back. Alastair was obviously retreating into his well-versed “ignore younger sister until she gives in” tactics and Cordelia had little choice but to add “Thomas is here to see you!” in hopes that would spike her brother’s interests.

It indeed sparked a reaction but the strangled curse from behind her brother’s door, accompanied by the unmistakable clang of a spear being thrown to the floor – she really should confiscate those before she left them to their conversation – was not a good sign. “Alastair!” she called again, stepping forward towards the door.

“Tell him I’m not here!” came Alastair’s immediate demand.

“He’s up here with me!” She responded, shooting a look behind her as though hoping Thomas would jump in. Another strangled noise came from her brother’s room and before she had time to hiss at Thomas to say something, _anything,_ Alastair’s door was jerking open behind her.

Her brother looked rather frightful and completely unprepared for company. His hair, still mercifully in its natural shade, was in absolute disarray and his hastily added dressing gown did nothing to hide the dreadful state of his bed clothes. “What have you been _doing_ , Cordelia?” He hissed, barely glancing at Thomas before setting his dark eyes on his sister. He was truly irate and for a brief, frightened moment, Cordelia felt like her worst fears were coming true. Alastair was not going to have this conversation and he would not be forgiving Cordelia anytime soon for her transgressions of his trust.

Still, she was already in this deep. She might as well complete the plunge. “You haven’t left your room. You need to speak with him.” She answered back, her voice small but steady. Alastair’s expression seemed to darken even further.

“Thomas Lightwood has made it very clear that he wants nothing to do with me. You had no right to drag him here or meddle in my affairs! Again!” He bit at her before motioning with his arm to close the door again. Sending a silent apology to her toes, Cordelia quickly slotted her foot between the door and the wall, stopping Alastair mid-slam.

“Alastair, please.” She slipped into Persian as she whispered, hoping it would soften her brother’s resolve. “You need this.”

“The only thing I need is a sister who focuses on her own affairs and leaves mine alone!” Alastair hissed back in the same language, his arm twitching against the door as he fought the temptation to slam it shut against her foot. So involved in their heated whisperings, neither Carstairs noticed as Thomas silently stepped forward until he was close enough to be a looming presence over the both of them. Cordelia could see the way anger seemed to drain from her brother’s face, replaced by a look of hounded wariness.

“Cordelia is right, I do wish to speak with you Alastair.” Thomas said quietly, his voice gentle and carefully unassuming. Alastair’s face immediately went blank.

“You made the opposite quite clear before, Mr. Lightwood.” He responded, voice carefully neutral. “I do apologize for my sister hounding you, she has no sense of boundaries, unfortunately. Be safe on your return home.” Cordelia nearly flinched at the lack of emotion in her brother’s voice, but Thomas, much to her surprise and his credit, seemed more determined now than ever to get into Alastair’s room.

“She has not hounded me – much –“ it seemed whatever talent Thomas had to lying to mothers did not apply to brothers as he tacked on the last word after the look on Alastair’s face. “I feel as though I may have been a bit – unfair- at our last encounter, and after speaking with your sister I thought it best to – hear you out about the whole affair.”

Alastair’s face remained unchanged and Cordelia’s fear for her poor toes increased. He was going to slam the door any minute, regardless of her foot. “How unfortunate for you, then, that I have nothing to say on the matter. Do be on your way.”

“I wish to speak to you.” Thomas repeated his earlier words, his voice an earnest whisper. For a moment, Alastair’s carefully neutral mask seemed to crack. Then it hardened once more.

“I have done _everything_ that you have asked.” Alastair’s voice came out as little more than a whisper, betraying the hurt simmering underneath his carefully blank façade. “I have not been in your sight or your hearing and I have made plans to leave this city to you and your friends once my father has come to watch over my mother and sister. What _more_ could you want from me?” There was a defeat in Alastair’s voice that Cordelia had rarely heard before and it took all her willpower not to force herself through the door and give her brother a comforting embrace.

“Alastair, please.” Thomas repeated Cordelia’s earlier words softly, this time in English, and Cordelia marveled at the immediate effect they had on her brother. The mask fell away from his face, giving a brief glimpse to the heart-shattering sadness welling inside him before he schooled his expression into one of careful disregard. Cordelia remembered, in that moment, that Alastair was also dealing with his fall out from Charles, a loss that she could not come quite close enough to understanding, even with her own farce of a marriage approaching. His heart was twice-broken and Cordelia was suddenly hit with the realization that she had invited in one of the men responsible for it. And she wasn’t even sure of their relationship.

“Fine.” Alastair’s voice was barely a sound, and he stepped so suddenly from the door that Cordelia nearly lost her footing, only spared from falling by a quick, sure hand on her waist that had come from Thomas. “If you are so determined to make a mockery of me, at least be quick with it. I have packing to accomplish.” Alastair beckoned for Thomas to enter the room and the warmth of Thomas’s brief hand left Cordelia as he stepped past her into the room, leaving Cordelia with the rather sudden, awkward feeling of wondering whether or not it was wise to leave her brother unaccompanied.

She found she did not want to be there for what was bound to be an unpleasant conversation but she also did not know the protocol of allowing a man whose intentions were unknown into her brother’s room alone. Were men in such situations expected to declare their intentions? Was she suddenly in the position of protecting her brother’s virtue? Did one man’s virtue need to be protected from another man? Was Thomas even the sort of man she needed to worry about? She was pretty sure the way he looked at Alastair was rather similar to how Alastair looked at Charles but how was one supposed to determine these things?

“You may go attend to Mâdar, Cordelia.” Alastair’s voice, cool again as he addressed his sister, made her decision for her. Cordelia nodded and turned on the spot. Before very quickly turning back.

“One quick thing!” She said, before darting past Thomas and into the room to scoop up the spear Alastair had thrown to the ground. She also grabbed the two daggers on his nightstand and another spear that she knew he kept tucked under his bed, just in case. “Good luck!” She murmured quickly before slipping out of the room and leaving the two men to their business.

Thomas watched her go, suddenly unsure and rather wishing for her presence. He had managed to get into Alastair’s room but now he was coming to the realization that he had absolutely no idea what to do or even what he wanted. His own emotions were swimming inside him – a massive part of him still seethed with anger and hurt at the very memory of Alastair’s words, at how he himself had vouched for him over and over again even while Matthew knew the truth. But another part, the part who remembered the gentleness in Alastair’s expression, the reverence in his voice as he told Thomas about various paintings, who remembered how Alastair had actually spoken to him at the Academy while others had scorned him, the part that had winced at Cordelia’s words as she had come storming into the Devil’s Tavern and the part that had seized with sadness when he caught sight of Alastair, usually impeccable even during a battle, in complete disarray in his bedroom, was crying out to ease the other man’s hurt. He had no idea what he was doing here.

To give himself another moment, he looked around the room. He had always imagined Alastair as an incredibly neat person and perhaps, when Alastair was not like this, he was, but at the moment his bedsheets were strewn about, the clear imprint of Alastair’s body molded into the sheets in an almost indecent way – Thomas could almost imagine Alastair’s lithe body pressed into the center of his bed, limbs sprawled indelicately as –

Thomas’s eyes shot from the bed immediately, a flush coming to his cheeks. Such thoughts were wholly inappropriate on a good day and they were downright criminal at this moment.

“For the love of all –“ Alastair’s loud grumbling brought Thomas from his thoughts and back to him. “If you insist on being here, at least take a seat so you look less like a lumbering giant.” Alastair gestured angrily towards a writing desk piled haphazardly with all sorts of books, papers, and a few glinting items that looked like weapons missed in Cordelia’s initial search. With a slight pang, Thomas realized that Alastair had been quite sincere in that he had been packing for his leave of the city. Thomas didn’t know how he felt about that either, but he took an obedient seat at the chair next to the desk, feeling every bit as awkward as a boy who had find themselves in the very private bedroom of someone they cared for in a way they probably shouldn’t.

Thomas had assumed that Alastair would take a seat himself, on the edge of his unmade bed, but the other boy remained standing, his body stiff and arms folded neatly across his chest. Not for the first time since his last growth spurt, Thomas marveled at how someone so small could appear so intimidating. Perhaps it was the darkness of Alastair’s eyes or the way his sharp cheekbones defined his face; or perhaps it was the fact that despite the slight delicateness to Alastair’s lithe body, every inch of him was poised and prepped for murder at any moment.

Perhaps it was because, despite Thomas’s righteous anger and justified hurt, he still very much loved the other boy. And a loved one, Thomas was learning quite acutely, always had a better ability to hurt than a stranger.

“You wanted to talk and yet I hear no words.” Alastair’s curt voice brought Thomas once more from his thoughts and he looked up at the other boy, fighting another flush from his cheeks. Whatever the reason for it, he had to admit that Alastair was far more successful at looming over him than his sister had been, even though he had taken enough steps back to be almost fully on the opposite side of the room. “If you merely wished to entertain my sister’s whims, you needn’t have forced yourself into my room. We could have convinced her we would talk in the hall and you could have sat in silence there.” Alastair looked rather like he would have massively preferred that – probably because he would have been able to slam and lock his door the moment Cordelia had disappeared down the stairs.

“I do want to talk.” Thomas said, just a hair on the side of too quick. And he did. It was just that between the raging emotions crashing against each other inside of his stomach and the revelations from Cordelia echoing inside his mind, he had no idea what to say.

Alastair fell silent then, evidently waiting for Thomas to speak. He was like that sometimes, contemplative, scrutinizing. Thomas had always liked that, had always liked the soft thrill that went down his spine when he felt Alastair’s gaze on him. He had just rarely felt betrayed by it too.

“I’m still very angry,” he began, finally, steeling his gaze so that he was looking up and directly into Alastair’s face. Even then, he nearly missed the soft flinch from the other man, “and utterly hurt, by the words you spread. It was a cruel thing to say, a hurtful, terrible thing. But Cordelia informed me of a few – matters –“ he chose his words delicately and didn’t miss the slight narrowing of Alastair’s eyes. He was pretty sure he had just managed to dig Cordelia into an even deeper hole, but he plowed on anyway, “and I realized that perhaps it was not as simple as you being cruel to be cruel, as I had thought. I did not give you a chance to explain yourself at the party and I would like to do so now.” He finished, somewhat awkwardly. He could not and would not Alastair offer the promise that he would be forgiven if he was able to explain himself – it would be a wholly untrue guarantee and unfair to the both of them. But he did want to hear Alastair’s side – if he was going to allow his feelings turn wholly to hate or let his anger go, he wanted his decision to be fully rounded.

Alastair’s expression did not waver anymore and he seemed, as a whole, entirely unmoved by Thomas’s words. “I do not know what Cordelia informed you of but I assure you, she has an unfortunate tendency to soften or wholly miss the faults of people –“

“She told me about your father. About the truth of his illness. And what people were like when you first came to the Academy.” Thomas said the words in a rush, hardly able to speak them much louder than a whisper. Alastair’s reaction was immediate and stunning – the golden color of his face seemed to grow almost pallid as the blood rushed from his face and his arms tightened across his chest until he seemed to be squeezing himself to the point of pain.

“Cordelia does not know what she’s talking about.” Alastair bit out, a moment too late. Thomas could see the truth written on his face and throughout his body, however, and pressed on.

“I understand why that made things difficult for you.” He told him, softly. Alastair’s body seemed to stiffen even further.

“You understand nothing.” There was a darkness in Alastair’s expression, one Thomas recognized, and he braced himself for the words that followed. “My sister had no right to share those things with you. And even though she did, she got them wrong. What I said had nothing to do with my father or how I was or wasn’t treated at the Academy. I said them because I was stupid and cruel and I wanted to hurt Matthew Fairchild and insinuating he was nothing more than a bastard child was the easiest way to do so.”

Thomas looked at the other boy as his words settled between them like icy dew in early winter mornings. Alastair had imparted a certain relish into his words, as though he enjoyed saying them but Thomas could read the blankness on his face better than most. Alastair was hurting and so, just as Cordelia had told him earlier, he was hurting in turn.

“I have no doubt you intended to hurt Matthew. And you succeeded.” How much, Thomas wasn’t sure, but he did know that the lightness that had shone around Matthew during his stay at the Academy had been dimmed considerably once those rumors had begun their rounds. It was, to Thomas, one of the biggest sins Alastair had committed with those words. He could not deny that it hurt to hear that was his intention, even if Thomas understood the reasoning behind them. “But you also hurt me. And my mother and father. My sisters. You hurt Charlotte and Henry and Charles too. Did you not care?”

His question was uttered quietly and he saw the way it caught at Alastair. He must have, at some level, expected it. But expecting a blow did not dull the sharpness of the pain and Thomas could see the moment it hit the other man, the way his words seemed to deflate him. He no longer looked angry or even neutral. Instead, an aching, bone-deep sadness, the same one he had seen briefly when Alastair had still been barring him from the room, etched across his face. His expression was equal parts sorrow and guilt and Thomas could read the answer clear as day. He still needed to hear it and so he repeated his words, his voice barely above a whisper in the icy stillness of the room. “Did you not care?”

“Not at the time,” Alastair whispered back; the truth an awful slash in the air, digging out a gorge between them. “I did not think about you or your parents or your sisters or Fairchild’s parents or – Charles,” Alastair’s voice, the smallest of whispers, twisted at the mention of Matthew’s older brother and something ugly reared inside of Thomas despite himself. There was a double layer of pain, a secret hurt that Thomas didn’t know but could easily guess, that accompanied that name. “They were just words. I didn’t even think they were true.” There was disgust in Alastair’s voice then, disgust at the memory of the horrible words, disgust at himself, at the undisguised callousness he and Thomas both could hear in the words.

“But still you said them.” Thomas whispered back. Alastair nodded.

“Still I said them.”

And there it was, the awful truth lay bare. Alastair had said the words; there was no denying that. He had called his mother a whore and his father a philanderer. He had cast aspersions on Charlotte Fairchild’s honor and he had accused her children of being nothing more than bastards and her husband little more than a pitiful fool, stuck raising children that weren’t even his own. He hadn’t even meant the words, just the pain inside them. Thomas didn’t know whether it was worse, if Alastair had believed the words when he said them or not. Either way left an odd emptiness in his body, as though he had been scraped cleaned by the terribleness of the words.

“You were hurting,” he whispered finally, and how he wanted that to be true. How he wanted it to be true that Alastair had lashed out unfairly because someone had hurt him. How he wanted Alastair to be a bully more than someone simply cruel. How desperately he wanted him to be a boy who sought to release some of his own pain into others rather than a boy who gave pain to others for the thrill of it. How he wanted Alastair to have a reason, no matter how unfair or unfounded, for the cruelty he inflicted on Thomas’s world.

“It is not an excuse.” Alastair whispered; his words as close to an admission as Thomas was likely ever to get. “My pain does not give me the right to inflict pain on others. My father is not an excuse for me to act terribly. I cannot take back my words but I can take responsibility for the pain they caused.” There was strength in Alastair’s voice again, a solidness Thomas hadn’t expected. “There is no excuse for them and I have spent these last few years regretting them. Of all the horrible things I said at the Academy, those words were by far the most terrible and the most impactful. They were undeserved and cruel, and I am sorry I ever uttered them. You will not ever forgive me those words, and I do not deserve to be forgiven for them.”

“You do not deserve forgiveness.” Thomas agreed, his voice equally powerful despite its quiet, easily cutting through Alastair’s words. Alastair winced viciously then, but he made no motion to disregard Thomas’s words. “You do not deserve forgiveness because forgiveness is not something that can be deserved. It is not something to be won, a prize for good behavior after terrible deeds. But it can be given, it can be _earned_. If someone is truly repentant, if someone truly abhors what they’ve done and strives to never to it again, forgiveness can be earned.” Alastair, who had dropped his gaze at the beginning of Thomas’s words, looked up at him again. His expression was one of raw hope, mixed with a sort of bone-deep weariness that could only come from years of disappointed optimism. Thomas wondered how many times Alastair had looked at his father – his drunken, wastrel of a father that had caused Alastair pain Thomas couldn’t even fathom – with that very look before it was crushed. He wondered when, exactly, Alastair had given up hope and turned to anger instead.

“I do not forgive you, yet.” Thomas said, his voice raw with his own emotions, hurt and anger mixing incorrigibly with pity and love. “But I feel like I can. I feel like, perhaps, we may be able to start over. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself – you can’t keep locking away your own pain for the sake of your sister until it boils over and scalds somebody else. And you certainly can’t just run off and hope the problem disappears on its own. That’s what your father’s been doing, is it not? It has not worked for him and it will not work for you. If you want forgiveness, you must be worthy of it. Prove that you are worthy of it to me, Alastair.” _Prove that you are worthy of this strange love I feel,_ he thought but did not say, silently watching the emotions, raw and unfiltered, pass across Alastair’s face.

Finally, a lightness spread across Alsastair, as his hope, perhaps for the first time in a very long while, won out over his despair. He didn’t smile – Thomas did not think either were quite at the point of smiling, just yet – but the harsh line of his mouth softened into something near one.

“I swear I will try,” Alastair intoned, and wasn’t that the best anyone could do - to try to be better tomorrow than they had been yesterday? Thomas himself could not and would not ask for more than that. 

Especially because he felt, rather acutely, that once a Carstairs swore something, they kept that promise, come Hell or high water. He did not believe Alastair would hurt him like this again.

They fell into silence again, a far more companionable one this time. The air around them was light, perhaps not yet with friendship or happiness, but no longer stiflingly heavy. The weight that had borne down on Thomas’s chest since the party had been lifted and he could tell Alastair, if not the same, something akin to what he was feeling. It was a wonderful feeling and the silence around them felt right. Felt relieving, healing. Felt almost sacred, after nearly all their truths had been said -

“I think I saw those flowers upstairs Mâmân, I will check!”

Until of course, Cordelia broke it. Sweet, prying, means-well Cordelia. She had looked like an avenging angel when she had come storming in to confront Thomas and she had left them looking like a rather like a younger sibling, unsure whether her actions would be helpful or detrimental, not knowing if her brother would forgive her but willing to wager his ire for his happiness. Thomas felt an inexplicable wave of fondness for her. He did not think Alastair and he would have spoken to each other for a very long time, had she not gotten involved.

“We are the flowers; I hope you realize.” Alastair drawled out, and for the first time since arriving, there was dry amusement clear in his voice. Thomas looked at him, feeling the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips.

"Do you think she believes we’ve taken to striking each other?” Thomas asked. Now that some of the heaviness was lifted, he could easily admit that the sight of Cordelia scurrying quickly under the bed to retrieve a spear – and really, at some point he would have to find out why Alastair kept spears so close to his _bed_ – before flouncing out of the room with a stash of weapons had been a humorous one.

“That or she believes you have made attempts at my virtue.” Alastair deadpanned and Thomas felt his cheeks flame. Alastair had never – _nobody_ had ever, really – spoken so frankly about such matters to him. “She had that sort of questioning look on her face before I sent her off.” Alastair shrugged as if what he said hadn’t been outrageous in any way. “But I’m rather certain she would not be rushing up the stairs to check if that were the case. Perhaps she’s worried I’ve killed you and need help stuffing your body under the bed.”

“What makes you think you’d win?” Thomas affected a sort of outrage in his voice. There had been times, in the early days at the Academy before James had decided to stop hating Matthew and focused all his ire on Alastair instead, when the other man had helped Thomas train. But those days were long gone, and Thomas was more than capable of holding his own. Plus, “I have easily half a foot on you!”

Alastair merely raised an eyebrow at Thomas’s protests. “It is not the size of the body, you behemoth, but what you do with it.” Thomas was not quite sure Alastair was strictly talking about fighting, again, and his cheeks felt fiery. “Now get out of my room before my dear sister borrows her parabatai’s axe and beats down the door.” Thomas had no doubt that she would. Cordelia was not the sort to let something as simple as a heavy wooden door keep her from things she wanted.

He went for the door, surprised and pleased that Alastair went with him and even went and pulled the door open for him. “Will I – I hope to see you again, sometime.” He blushed as he admitted it, partially worried that Alastair would mock him for the words. Instead, a softness seemed to pass briefly across the other boy's face.

“My sister is marrying one of your best friends. Do you think I’d let her go through all that stress on her own?” he said finally and Thomas offered a small smile at the hidden meaning behind the words. Alastair would not be hiding any more in his bedroom, nor would he be zipping off to another city or country. He would be here, around Thomas. And he would be trying to be a better person than the boy who had uttered those hurtful words.

Thomas could not wait to see the type of man that emerged from this, the type of man Alastair Carstairs would be, once he let go of the pain and the fear that had shaped him so sharply.

Thomas rather thought he would love that version of Alastair even more than the one he loved currently.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this book five days ago and this idea would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. Do I think Alastair and Thomas's reconciliation is going to be this easy? No. Do I want it to be anyway? Yes.Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it! I might write some more one-shots featuring this pairing because Alastair absolutely killed me in Chain of Gold and I have many emotions about him and Thomas and equally as many months until I get them again. Thanks for reading!


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